


52 Haircuts

by KingCorvidae



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, and then I got my grubby little hands all over it, this started out so cute in my head
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-28
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-23 20:17:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6128842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingCorvidae/pseuds/KingCorvidae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock's been keeping track of some unusual things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	52 Haircuts

"52."

John glanced up from the newspaper briefly, brow furrowing.

"Sorry?"

"52." Sherlock repeated.

"No, I heard what you said, I just have no idea what it's supposed to mean." Sherlock closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the couch, long throat moving as he spoke again.

"That's how many haircuts you've had since we first met. You average one every four weeks, five, if you're trying something new, but you usually decide you don't like it within the week, and go to get it cut again." John snorted softly and turned the page over, not really reading it at all.

"I shouldn't even be surprised at this point, but that's an odd thing to keep track of." He pointed out.

"I like it longer." Sherlock said in such a casual tone that John wasn't even sure he'd heard right. He choked down the sudden knot in his throat and tried not to crumple the paper in his hands.

"Do you?" John managed to keep his voice steady, pleased that it had come out so normal.

"Yes." Sherlock slid down the back of the couch to sprawl across the length of it, dressing gown draped artfully over the edge. John was sure he'd managed to arrange it so it would look as dramatic as possible.

"Well. Thanks?"

"You're welcome." A dull silence fell over the room. John cleared his throat.

"Anything else you've been keeping track of that I should know about?" Sherlock was silent for a good five minutes.

"You laugh more since... She left." He said quietly. John felt the air leave his lungs as his eyes closed involuntarily. They didn't talk about her much, not since The Incident. _Tell it like it is, Watson, you married a murderer._ He rubbed the bridge of his nose hard, stomach churning. The wound in his leg twinged and he shrugged it off as best he could.

"Sherlock..."

"No, I shouldn't have brought it up, I'm sorry." He was up and off the couch in matter of seconds and out of the room in a heartbeat and a swirl of silk.

\----

The room was dark and musty, really everything you'd expect of a room that had been the secret hideout of a women who had lied about her entire life. John glanced at Sherlock as he shut the door silently, before turning to scan the small space again. He stepped forward, taking in the pictures and maps pinned to the crumbling walls. Books lay open on the desk in the corner, most in languages John couldn't read. He picked up a tattered notebook and flipped through it, but the writing wasn't decipherable either.

"Sherlock, what do you make of-" A pained grunt cut him off and John whipped around, gun already drawn. "Sher- Mary." He stared at the woman he had married, her arm currently wrapped around Sherlock's throat, the muzzle of her gun pressed to an already bloodied temple. "Mary. Let him go." John lowered the aim of his gun to the floor. "Let him go. It was my idea to come here, he only found it..."

"Oh, shut up. I don't care whose idea it was, it's always both of you in the end." Her face was twisted unpleasantly, eyes cold. She kicked the back of Sherlock's right knee and forced him to kneel, the gun still digging into his skull. John swallowed hard as his eyes met Sherlock's and read the message apparent in them: _Run. I'll distract her, just run._

 _She'll kill you._ John thought. _She'll kill you and... God, I don't know what I'd do._ He shook his head minutely and Sherlock's eyes closed as Mary started speaking.

"Now, if you'd just stayed out of this like a good boy, Sherlock, if you'd just minded your business like your brother asked... John wouldn't have to watch you die again."

"No! No, Mary, don't... Don't." His gun was pointing at her again. He hadn't even felt himself move. Her head tilted and she narrowed her eyes.

"Shoot me if you want, John, but Sherlock will be dead either way. I'd put the gun down if I were you. One of you could survive this. I'd prefer if you did, but you're not indispensable." John hesitated and Mary pushed her gun harder against Sherlock's temple. His head tilted away involuntarily as John swore quietly and lowered his own gun.

"Alright... Look, it's down. Just let him go, please." Mary scoffed.

"As if! Did you really think if you kept digging, I wouldn't find out? I told you not to read that flash drive, John. I told you!"

"Mary, all those people..."

"Were nothing! If you'd let me explain instead of listening to him!" She jerked the arm around Sherlock's neck. "Just let me explain. I'll make it quick, you know I can, he won't feel a thing." Her finger tightened marginally on the trigger and John lunged. The barrel was pointing towards him in a second. He raised his hands.

"Mary..."

"One more step! I told Sherlock and I'll tell you! One. More. Step!" John met Sherlock's frantic eyes. _I won't let anything happen to you. Not again._

He stepped forward and collapsed almost immediately as Mary fired. She had aimed for his heart, hadn't even hesitated, but Sherlock, God, Sherlock had twisted in her grasp and reached for John's gun. The movement had been enough to throw off her aim, and as John went down, Sherlock grabbed his gun and shot blindly over his shoulder. The bullet grazed Mary's arm, startling her enough that she dropped her own weapon, fingers clutching her bicep, blood barely staining her red jacket. She snarled as Sherlock kicked her gun away and leveled John's at her head.

He had placed himself between John and Mary, still on the ground, blood trickling out of his right ear. _Burst eardrum._ John thought dully, as he pressed a useless hand to his thigh. _It must hurt._

"This isn't over, Sherlock. You know it isn't." Mary said, glaring balefully at John as she said it.

"I'd be disappointed if it was." Sherlock told her, clicking the safety off. She sneered at him and bolted out the door.

John didn't even have time to blink before Sherlock was next to him, a large hand cupping his cheek briefly, before he was tearing off his scarf and pressing it to John's thigh.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I never should have brought you here, I should have left it alone, let Mycroft deal with it... John, John, just hold that there. I'm calling an ambulance, it's alright, it'll be alright..." John leaned back on his arm as Sherlock dialed and spat out their location and information to the dispatcher. He blinked slowly when Sherlock tossed his phone to the side and pressed his hands over John's on the scarf. "You'll be fine..." He whispered. "Please."

"Sherlock..." He lifted his head and met John's eyes, and John was startled to see tears running down his cheeks. "God, no, don't cry." He slipped his hand out from under Sherlock's and lifted it to his face, wiping at the tears and accidentally smearing blood on him in the process. "Jesus, that's grim. I'm fine, really, I doubt the bullet went deep enough to hit anything serious. It's just a graze, honestly. They'll stitch me up and I'll be out in an hour or two." He watched in dismay as Sherlock's face crumpled again.

"I'm sorry..." John reached out again and tangled his fingers in the curls at the back of Sherlock's neck.

"Come here." He whispered, pulling him close enough that their foreheads were resting together. "It's fine." Sirens wailed in the distance. "It's fine."

\------

The door was solid and imposing and seemed like it was a mile thick. John hesitated before knocking softly. He imagined the wood bruised his knuckles. There was no reply so he knocked again, more firmly.

"Sherlock? You're not asleep are you?" Silence radiated from behind the door. John briefly wondered whether or nor it would splinter if he punched it. More likely that he'd break a finger.

He sighed and was just turning to leave when there was a small click and the soft thuds of bare feet retreating. John turned again and grasped the handle nervously, before pushing the door aside. Sherlock was curled in the middle of his bed, facing the wall. He didn't move as the door opened. John let go of the door handle, feeling like he was dropping a lifeline as he walked towards the bed.

"I'm not mad." He said. "It's... okay to bring it up. None of it was your fault." He sat on the edge of the bed carefully. Sherlock rolled onto his back as the mattress dipped and stared up at John with reddened eyes.

"You were shot because I brought you into another dangerous situation. How is that not my fault?" He asked. John looked away.

"I brought her into our lives in the first place. You were only trying to clean up my mess."

"She could have killed you-"

"SHE DID KILL YOU." Sherlock flinched at the outburst and John immediately felt a pit drop into his stomach. "I'm - I didn't mean to yell." He muttered, clenching the bed-sheets in his fist. "Just... She did a lot worse to you, and you never... You just tried to help. Tried to make it right after I fucked up. Christ, and I never really said thank you..." A light touch made John look down as Sherlock grasped his wrist.

"John."

"You never complained, never-"

" _John_."

"I didn't think, I never said thank you-"

"Of course." John stared at a pillow as Sherlock gently squeezed his wrist. "It was no trouble."

"You were shot." John said helplessly.

"So were you." John twisted his hand out of Sherlock's grasp and laid it gently over where he knew a knot of scar tissue was hidden beneath Sherlock's T-shirt. "John?"

"Thank you, Sherlock. Just... thank you." He leaned down to kiss his forehead and froze in shock when Sherlock met his lips with his own. "Oh." He breathed softly when Sherlock pulled back.

"John... I'm sorry, I thought-"

"No, it's... good. It's fine." Sherlock stared up at him with wide eyes, his lips parted as he panted softly. John reached out to smooth the hair off his forehead. "It's fine." He leaned in and kissed him again, marveling at the feel of Sherlock's lips against his own. Pulling his hand from Sherlock's hair, John stroked his fingers down Sherlock's cheek as he leaned over further to deepen the kiss.

Sherlock gasped when John trailed his tongue over his full bottom lip, asking lightly, before he gripped Sherlock's face more firmly and kissed him properly. Hands tangled weakly in his shirt when John pulled away, breathing heavily. He gazed down at Sherlock, taking in his rumpled hair, his reddened lips, the faint blush spreading across his cheekbones. John closed his eyes.

"I should go. Get in bed." He said. Sherlock's warmth moved from where it had been pressed against his thigh, and John opened his eyes to see him curled on his side again.

"Stay." Sherlock whispered. "Please."

"Yeah. Yeah, alright." John stood up and toed his shoes off, unbuttoning his jeans and pulling his jumper over his head. He saw Sherlock watching him out of the corner of his eye as he settled behind him and pulled a sheet up over them. Shuffling down on the mattress, John slipped his arm around Sherlock's waist, relieved when Sherlock leaned back into his chest and sighed deeply.

John slid his hand up Sherlock's chest, cupping his hand over the bullet wound once again. Sherlock laced their fingers together and John let his eyes slide shut.

\----

There was a warm, heavy weight on his chest. That registered before John even opened his eyes. Another band of warmth was slung across his middle, and he felt long legs tangled with his own. John opened his eyes and took in Sherlock's sleeping form sprawled across him, hair a nest of curls, his mouth open slightly where his cheek was pressed firmly into John's chest.

John slowly extracted an arm out from under Sherlock and began stroking his hair, wondering at the impossible softness of it. Sherlock murmured something indistinguishable and moved even closer. He nuzzled into John's throat when John ran his hand down his back, fingers catching on the silky fabric of Sherlock's dressing gown.

"Awake?" John whispered.

"Mm. Barely. Could stay like this." His voice was quiet and sounded heart-breakingly hopeful. John leaned in and kissed the top of his head.

"'Course. This is... Nice." John reached for the hand Sherlock had flung across his waist and began to absently stroke it, lifting each of the long, delicate fingers individually. "What are we doing?" He asked quietly. Sherlock shifted against him.

"I believe it's... cuddling."

"No, I meant, what are we _doing_? Is this... going somewhere?" Sherlock lifted his head and stared intently at him, all traces of sleepiness gone.

"Do you want it to go somewhere?"

"Jesus, Sherlock. You know I - care deeply for you. You have to know that."

"Yes," Sherlock's reply was barely audible. "And I for you." John buried his nose into Sherlock's hair, screwing his eyes shut.

"Then it wouldn't exactly come as a surprise if I told you..."

"John..."

"That I love you." John felt Sherlock stiffen against him, entire body rigid and unmoving. His heart sank. "Sorry, I shouldn't have-" John was cut off when Sherlock rolled onto his back, pulling John on top of him. Long arms wrapped around his shoulders as Sherlock peppered his face and neck with uncoordinated kisses. Startled, John returned them, barely realizing that Sherlock had begun to speak.

"God, John, you have no idea... how long... I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, John Watson." Sherlock's hands were trembling. "My John." He whispered. John pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the base of Sherlock's throat and barely contained a sob.

"You never said... Why didn't you say anything? Christ, why didn't I?" Sherlock clutched the back of his head, pulling him closer.

"I never thought you’d want this. I never thought I was..." Sherlock's voice trailed off as he moaned.

"What?" John asked, pushing Sherlock's shirt up over his chest. "Never thought you were what?"

"Good enough." John froze. He pushed back and stared at the man underneath him, shirt bunched up under his arms, hair coiled in every direction, eyes bright, face flushed.

"No. Oh, Sherlock, no." John leaned down and kissed him deeply, reached out and clasping one of Sherlock's hands as he moved from his lips to his jaw. "You wonderful, brilliant," John kissed his neck. "Incredible, beautiful," Sherlock arched underneath him as he moved down his chest. "Extraordinary, clever," his stomach fluttered under John's lips. "Amazingly perfect man."

"John!" Sherlock cried out when he mouthed at the obvious erection through his pyjama bottoms. John tugged lightly at the cloth, asking silently. "Please!" Sherlock whined.

John pulled his pyjamas down and took a few seconds to admire Sherlock, before he buried his nose into the thick, well-groomed curls and mouthed at the base of Sherlock's cock. Sherlock moaned so loudly that John was positive someone from Scotland Yard would be down in a few minutes to check that they weren't being attacked.

Holding him steady with his left hand, John ran his tongue slowly up the side of Sherlock's length, stopping to press his lips to his leaking glans for a moments before he opened his mouth and took Sherlock in. Sherlock cried out and jerked his hips so quickly that John nearly choked. He stroked his hip and made what he hoped was a reassuring noise. Sherlock's legs trembled. John kept his tongue firm on the underside of Sherlock's cock as he drew his mouth up slowly, then sank back down. Sherlock moaned softly throughout.

After a few minutes, John pulled back and began kissing his way down to Sherlock's balls. John mouthed at the delicate skin as ran his hands up Sherlock's slim thighs. Glancing up, he saw Sherlock had thrown his head back against the pillow, curls haloing his flushed face, mouth dropped open, chest heaving. Something broke loose in John's chest and he drew in a rattling breath.

"Oh, Sherlock..." He shifted his head so he could meet John's eyes at the quiet tone, pale eyes glazed. John pressed his cheek to the inside of Sherlock's thigh, rubbing lightly against the soft skin. He brought his hand up and stroked lightly at Sherlock's arsehole. "Can I... I want to fuck you. Can I?" Sherlock bit his lower lip and made a little sound almost like a hiccup.

"Yes. Please. _Please_."

"Do you have lube?"

"Middle drawer." Sherlock said, pointing in the general direction of his nightstand. John slid off the bed to retrieve it, dropping his pants while he was up, and snapped the lid open as he settled back between Sherlock's legs. He poured a generous amount onto his left hand and cupped it in his palm to warm it a bit.

"Have you ever, you know, done this before?" He asked. Sherlock lowered his eyes.

"...No."

"Alright. We'll take it slow then." John murmured. "Do you want to be on your stomach?" Sherlock shook his head. "Alright, then. Lift your leg up for me... there, perfect." John let Sherlock slip his leg over his right shoulder, before he brought his hand down and massaged his index finger over Sherlock's opening.

"Oh..."

"Feel ok?" When Sherlock nodded, John pressed forward and slipped the tip of his finger inside him. Moving it in a small circle, John eased in further, watching Sherlock's face carefully. His hips canted forward as John rubbed his perineum.

John continued to finger Sherlock slowly for a few minutes, letting him adjust to the feeling. As soon as Sherlock was biting his lip so hard it was white, John pulled back and, adding a little more lube, pressed another finger into him.

Sherlock whimpered and his head lolled to the side, the leg around John's shoulders twitching. Biting his lip to keep from smiling, John pushed forward and twisted his fingers slightly, letting the tips brush firmly against the sensitive gland inside Sherlock.

"OH!" Sherlock's back arched and his leg clenched so tightly around John's shoulder that he almost winced.

"Thought you might like that..." He muttered. Sherlock bucked his hips down onto John's fingers.

"Do it again!" He demanded. Laughing, John complied. He felt himself ache as Sherlock twisted against his fingers, barely noticing as he slid a third in. Heel digging into his back, Sherlock reached for him, pulled him close, and buried his face into John's shoulder. "Now. Please, John, please." He panted.

"Christ, hold on..." John pulled his fingers out of Sherlock as he fumbled with the bottle of lube in his right hand. Pouring it over himself and the sheets, John slicked his cock thoroughly, swiping another dab over Sherlock just to be safe. He shuffled closer and lined himself up to Sherlock's hole, holding himself steady. "Just bear down for me, love, tell me if you want me to stop."

John pushed forward slowly, tangling his free hand in Sherlock's hair as Sherlock mouthed at his neck. After a few agonizingly long moments, John felt a sharp burst of breath on his throat as he bottomed out. Sherlock's leg, still amazingly on his shoulder, finally dropped to curl around his waist where it was joined by the other one.

"Alright?" John gasped. Sherlock gripped his face and kissed him firmly.

"Don't ever stop." He whispered against John's mouth. John groaned and bucked his hips up into Sherlock. Sherlock's head fell back as he cried out, clinging tightly to John's shoulders. John bent his head to bite gently at Sherlock's exposed clavicles, marking them in a soft red.

He thrust into Sherlock steadily as large hands tangled in his hair, ran down his back, pulled him closer. Sherlock was gasping into his ear, short draws of hot breath as he clutched desperately at John.

"John, God, I'm so close!" He whined, tossing his head against the pillow. John shifted himself so he could reach down to wrap his hand around Sherlock's cock, stroking him in short motions as he wailed.

"Sherlock... Sherlock, come for me, you gorgeous thing." John breathed, squeezing Sherlock's cock firmly. Sherlock cried out again, his entire body snapping taut, as he clenched around John's prick and came hard. He gasped for breath for a few moments and then lifted his arms around John's neck and squeezed. John kissed him hard as he thrust his hips up barely three more times, before he shuddered and came, pressing his face into Sherlock's neck.

They both lay there, panting and pressing soft kisses into each others’ damp skin. John finally sighed and gently pulled out of Sherlock, stroking his hair at the distressed noise he let out.

"That was amazing. _You_ were amazing. Best sex I've ever had." Sherlock looked up at him, eyes hazy, and smiled. John felt his chest tighten. "Sherlock..."

"I love you, John." John kissed him again, simply because he could. "I do like your hair a bit longer." Sherlock told him after they broke apart. John stared at him, puzzled, for a moment, before remembering their earlier conversation. He rolled to the side and laughed. Sherlock followed, pressing his ear against John's chest and grinning shyly.

"You're the most ridiculous man I've ever met." John said. "And I love you so incredibly much, Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock let out a contented sigh as John gathered him in close and kissed his forehead.

Somewhere in the flat, a clock chimed noon, and neither of them stirred.


End file.
